


Privileges of Rank

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Traveling Man [28]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9894971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Elizabeth and the rest of the Atlantis senior command looked the other way while expedition members sought comfort from each other, but they never dared indulge themselves. Then the expedition reconnects with Earth, and the Daedalus brings new supplies and new personnel. Atlantis is the SGC's pasture for its black sheep, and among them is Major Lorne, who nearly brought an entire mining operation to ruin, has "some skill" in logistics, and is available to senior command staff and senior command only.





	

Atlantis is both their workplace and their home, but it is a military base and research outpost first, home second. Rules went lax while Atlantis was cut off from Earth, because it looked more and more like Atlantis was going to be home forever. With the arrival of the _Daedalus_ came supplies, reinforcements, connection with home.

And rules.

Elizabeth has always been scrupulous about her interpersonal relationships, to maintain the structure of command as best as she can. In addition to being a civilian commander of a mostly-military population, she is a woman, and she must walk a fine line of authority and respect to sustain discipline in the city.

She is lonely. She knows she isn’t the only one. Kate, Carson, John, Rodney - all of them are in similar positions. When others sought comfort in the growing certainty that Earth was lost to them forever, they looked the other way, but they didn’t dare indulge.

And just when they were ready to give in - perhaps some of them had given in, Elizabeth doesn’t know and doesn’t want to - the _Daedalus_ arrived.

After they weathered the Wraith siege on the city, Elizabeth and John were sent back to Earth, to debrief, for John’s promotion and instatement as actual commander of the base. They returned to Atlantis with the hope of continued support from Earth and additional personnel, to relieve those who’d been under fire for the better part of a year.

Elizabeth knows John is frustrated that the IOA no longer wants to expend resources and efforts to recover Aiden Ford, and he is wary of the new field officer sent in to replace Ford as 2IC. Elizabeth suspects what she has always suspected, that Atlantis is the penal colony, the place the SGC sends personnel they don’t know what to do with.

John has a black mark on his record that should, by all counts, have gotten him discharged. Rodney is almost universally disliked under The Mountain, despite all his brilliance, and served penance in Siberia for a long time because of an early misstep against Samantha Carter (though Carter isn’t nearly so petty as to keep holding that against him). And Evan Lorne nearly brought an entire naquadah mining operation to ruin when he failed to inform Dr. Jackson of some artefacts found during a survey, artefacts that were evidence of Unas habitation on the planet.

Major Lorne is polite and respectful when he greets Elizabeth and John, but then his file suggests his disdain is mostly toward scientists, and he respects John and Elizabeth’s authority. Elizabeth notes that when he is assigned to build a gate team, he doesn’t invite a scientist, instead has three Marines, two technical officers and a rifleman.

Major Lorne’s file does note that he has “some skill” in logistics. It’s an understatement. Under Lorne’s capable leadership, requisition forms that John often lost are getting signed and sent as they should, every bullet and square of toilet paper is accounted for, and everyone has everything they need, when they need it. When things get low, fair and careful rationing is instituted until the _Daedalus_ next returns.

It only takes two cycles of _Daedalus_ deliveries before rationing is no longer necessary, because the supply lines have been adjusted so Atlantis’s needs - the personnel’s basic physical needs, at any rate - are always met.

With the influx and rotation of personnel, there is dating. Quiet, subtle. Following established regulations, so what couples do manage to spring up are always soldier-civilian or civilian-civilian.

Elizabeth is still fiercely lonely, and she and Simon are over, because he does not understand her need to stay with Atlantis, but now Earth’s eyes are on her, and she must perform better than they expect, lest they take Atlantis from her.

She isn’t sure how it happens, but it just - does.

Somewhere, among the newly-budding romances and joyful reception of Earth supplies - movies, books, music - Major Lorne becomes the unspoken fucktoy for senior command.

Elizabeth is the last to know, and she would be more disappointed if she weren’t allowed to share, but as the leader of the entire expedition, once she knows, she is allowed first pick of his time and attention.

She first discovers what is happening when she goes to the military command office to speak to John and finds him sprawled in his chair as he always is, his disdain for proper posture an extension of his general disdain for authority.

She lets the door slide shut behind her, because she wants to speak to him about keeping the Marines in better line with the female scientists, and she starts closer. John’s back is to her. He must have heard the door, except he doesn’t acknowledge her.

She goes to tap his shoulder and sees -

Lorne, kneeling between John’s thighs. John has one hand fisted in Lorne’s dark hair and the other hand curled around the back of Lorne’s neck, and he’s fucking Lorne’s mouth leisurely, head tipped back, eyes closed in bliss.

Elizabeth clamps her hand over her mouth so she doesn’t make a sound, but she can see where John’s pants are undone and Lorne’s eyelashes form a dark crescent against his cheekbone and his lips are plump and red and wet-shiny, and then the rhythm of John’s hips stutters, and he’s coming, and Lorne swallows it down.

Elizabeth backs out, closes the door behind her.

What the hell is John thinking? He’s Lorne’s commanding officer, they’re both men, Lorne is from Earth, he’s loyal to Stargate Command, anyone could have walked in -

The door opens, and Major Lorne is standing there, datapad in hand. Apart from the redness, fullness of his mouth, he looks as he always does, perfectly turned out in his uniform.

“Ma’am,” he says, inclining his chin politely, and walks past her, tapping his radio and asking for a location on Zelenka as he goes.

Elizabeth’s conversation with John isn’t about the Marines at all. She can barely speak, she’s so shocked, but she manages to tell John she saw, and he explains, in more oblique and diplomatic terms than she thought him capable of, that this is what the expedition needs, and what happens with Lorne behind closed doors can affect none of their interactions with him in the outside world, and with that caveat, Lorne is available to senior command staff and senior command only.

 _All_ of senior command, John means. And his smile turns sly, the one she knows drove his past CO’s insane. Don’t worry, he says. They have a system in place, won’t get caught.

Elizabeth points out that she nearly caught him.

And John, damn him, smirks and says she had to get let into the loop somehow.

It’s Rodney who shows Elizabeth how to access the video feed, so she knows she’s not alone. (He accesses the video feed to wipe it, to protect all of them, to protect Lorne.) She sees Lorne sitting behind Carson on one of the hospital quarantine beds in the middle of the night, curtain half-drawn around them, one hand down Carson’s pants and another hand up his shirt while Carson moans and writhes and then comes messily all over Lorne’s hand.

She sees Rodney bending Lorne over a workbench in one of the labs, one hand on the back of his neck to pin him down, another hand at his hip, taking him roughly, half-distracted by the equations on the whiteboard in the other side of the room, and she’s pretty sure Rodney mouths _Eureka_ right before he comes.

She sees Kate push Lorne down onto her chair, the one she sits in when she sees patients, and climb into his lap, fumble her hands between them, and ride him seemingly forever; she comes four times by Elizabeth’s count before she stands up on wobbly legs and lets Lorne put her back together, smooth down her fastened-up clothes.

After every encounter, Lorne puts himself back together, and by the time he steps out of the carefully-locked room (Lorne is a natural gene carrier, second only to John and Carson in strength) he is going about business as usual.

Elizabeth isn’t sure how to initiate an encounter with Lorne; she doesn’t want to summon him to her office like a principal to a misbehaving student. Even though she knows she’s not alone in her need for him, she can’t bring herself to ask any of the others for help.

Lorne anticipates her need the same way he anticipates needs all across the city - more coffee in the labs, a few more Xbox consoles for the Marines - and arrives at her door late one night, datapad in hand, with some requisition forms he needs signed immediately. The _Daedalus_ arrives in eight hours and Colonel Sheppard is very busy and couldn’t get to them till the last minute. Lorne is apologetic about not reminding Sheppard sooner, he knows Elizabeth is settling in for the night, but there is something in his eyes that is knowing, and so she invites him in.

The door slides shut and then the door sensor flares blue again. Locked.

Elizabeth isn’t sure how to ask for what she wants. Lorne hands her the datapad, and she invites him to sit, only these are her quarters, she doesn’t ever have guests, and the only place he can sit is on the edge of her bed, and she sits beside him.

Her hands fumble as she tries to find the where the stylus is stored in the frame of the datapad, and when he shows her where it is, their hands tangle, and she apologizes.

He tells her, quietly, that she can have whatever she wants. She doesn’t know what she wants.

Anything, ma’am, he promises her. Then he smiles wryly and adds, Within reason, of course. He’s not as young and flexible as he used to be. But he’ll try anything safe at least once.

What Elizabeth wants is the definition of unsafe.

“Can I touch you?”

The words tumble out of her before she can stop them. Everyone else seemed to take him with little preamble, no conversation, but then she suspects what she witnessed was not their first times - and he nods. She babbles, trying to explain that the only men she’s been with before have always been soft and slender and gentle, academics and diplomats and men with clever hands and tongues but bodies almost as fragile as hers.

Lorne lets her unzip his jacket, lets her press a hand to the warmth of his chest. His t-shirt does little to hide the breadth of his shoulders, the solidness of his muscles. He holds still, lets her trace along his collarbone and down his ribs. He lets her push his jacket off his shoulders, lets her tug his shirt free of his pants and slip her hands under. His skin is warm, smooth. He has little body hair.

She has admired the physicality of men like Ronon, like John, but she has never been allowed to look closely, to touch.

Lorne lets her pull his t-shirt over his head, moves his arms to help her, and she is surprised that he has tattoos, one on his right upper arm, one over his heart. They are complex designs, organic and ornate, but she cannot quite tell what they are, and she isn’t sure she has the right ask.

Lorne tells her, softly, that his older sister is a tattoo artist. She gave him the one on his arm when he first joined the Air Force and the one over his heart right before he shipped out to Atlantis.

And that breaks the dam inside of Elizabeth. She twists herself so she is straddling his thighs, and she runs her hands up his chest, pausing to thumb his nipples - and she feels his cock twitch beneath her thigh, good, he’s turned on, she hadn’t realized she was afraid he wouldn’t be turned on - and she explores his glorious, golden skin, his shoulders and the broad sweep of his back, the line of his throat. His hair is soft where she curls a hand around the nape of his neck.

She traces the muscles of his abdomen, giggling a little hysterically, because she’d known men could have abs like that, but those were always unreal men, celebrities and models on the covers of magazines. Lorne murmurs that he has to work hard, to make sure the Marines respect him, and then she’s tracing the cut of his hips and he wriggles a little when she skims her fingertips along the waistband of his pants.

She buries her hands in his soft hair, cradling him close, and kisses him. He tastes of coffee and something else, something deeper, something Lorne. His lips are soft and his tongue tentative as he flicks the tip of it against hers, and she can’t help it; she rocks her hips against him.

When she pulls back, he looks uncertain, and cold shock washes over her.

She starts to climb off of him, but he smooths a warm, strong hand at her hip and confesses that he was surprised she kissed him is all - no one else kisses him.

Just like that, she knows what she wants. So she leans in and takes it, captures his mouth with hers. His hands settle at her waist, but not for long. He’s skimming them up her back, tracing the line of her spine through her red command t-shirt, and he splays his fingers along her ribs, holding her carefully.

He doesn’t need to be careful with her. She’s not fragile. She won’t break. She’s been hanging onto this expedition tooth and nail since she first stepped through the gate to Atlantis, and she’s prevailed. So she grinds her hips against his and keeps kissing him, open-mouthed and as filthy as she can make it, and he runs his hands up and down her sides. His thumbs brush the sides of her breasts, and she moans into his mouth, so he brushes his thumbs against her again. She moans and rubs herself against him, and then he’s cupping her breasts carefully, smoothing his thumbs over the peaks of them, but the damn bra padding is in the way, so Elizabeth disengages from the kiss and tears her shirt off over her head.

Before she can wrangle herself out of her bra, Lorne is leaning in, nosing along her collarbone, pressing kisses to her throat and down her chest, and then he’s brushing his lips along the lace edge of the bra cup, and she breathes a soft _yes_.

He’s smiling against her skin as he pushes the fabric aside, and then his lips close around her nipple, and she cries out. He flicks his tongue against the already-stiff peak, and sparks shoot up her spine, warmth pools between her hips. His broad, callused hands stroke along the delicate skin of her spine, and he unfastens the clasp and slides her bra off of her.

He mouths at her other breast, stroking her wet nipple with one thumb, and then he twists his hips, flips them over. She lets out a soft sound of alarm, but instead of him smothering her with his weight, he tugs her to the edge of the bed, slides to his knees. He licks his way down the valley between her breasts, presses kisses to the creases on the underside of the curves, and kisses his way down her belly.

When he circles her navel with his tongue, she gasps, surprised at the sensation, and while he’s licking her, he’s unfastening her pants. She cants her hips upward to help him slide her pants down her thighs. She’s barefoot, and his hands on her soles and ankles are gentle as he completely divests her of her pants. He presses a kiss to the inside of her knee, and his soft hair brushes her thigh. He presses another kiss higher on the soft, vulnerable skin of her inner thigh, casts her a questioning look, and she nods, and like that, he’s kissing his way up her thighs.

He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of her panties and eases them down with the same care he took with her pants, helps her out of them one foot at a time, and Elizabeth realizes just how vulnerable she is. She wants to press her knees together, shut him out, but he senses her hesitation, rubbing small, soothing circles on her hip with one hand and dropping feather-light kisses along the inside of her thigh, waiting for her to relax.

And that care, that gentleness seals the deal for her. She threads her fingers through his hair and guides him to her, and then she closes her eyes and loses herself in sensation she realizes she’s never, ever had. None of her previous lovers had ever, would never -

She’s dripping wet, and his fingers slip through her folds perfectly, and he’s circling her entrance with his thumb, and then he’s nosing at her, and his tongue flicks against her swollen nub of flesh, and she screams.

She’s aware she’s probably clutching his shoulder too hard, pulling his hair, but he’s lapping at her, tongue rough and warm, and lightning is jolting up and down her spine, out to her limbs and sparking in her fingers and toes, and pressure is building in her core, and she’s babbling, begging, and then he slips a finger into her, dipping gently, stroking, searching for that spot she can barely find herself.

His tongue on her is perfect, fluttering and flicking, arrhythmic and sending jolts of surprise through her. She’s thrusting up against him unabashedly. It feels so good, she needs more, and then he slides a second finger into her, and she screams again.

He establishes a rhythm between tongue and fingers, stroking and licking, and she’s twisting, thrusting to meet his hand, and she’s close, so close, and then he crooks his fingers just right and she clamps down on him, wailing, coming, coming so hard she sees stars.

But he doesn’t stop, keeps rocking his fingers into her, and she’s spiking again, and he slides a third finger into her, almost the thickness of a cock. He’s fucking her with his fingers, and she fucks herself down on his hand. She wants his cock, wants him to fill her, but she can’t talk, and her pulse is climbing, and she’s coming again. She hasn’t quite come down when his mouth vanishes, and she whines, but he’s still fucking her with his fingers, and then his thumb is circling her clit and his lips close over her breast, his tongue dancing over her nipple, and she comes so hard she passes out.

When she opens her eyes, mere seconds later, Lorne is kneeling beside her, watching her intently, making sure she’s okay. Once she smiles at him, tells him she’s all right, he pads into the bathroom and brings back a warm, damp washcloth to clean her.

And clean himself. He came in his own pants from pleasuring her.

Just like with the others, he is perfectly put together in seemingly no time at all, but unlike the others, he kisses her softly on the mouth before he goes.

He reminds her to finish signing those forms before the _Daedalus_ arrives in the morning.

Elizabeth falls asleep, feeling something in her mend, something she didn’t know was broken.

She learns to see the signs - the sensual roll of John’s hips as he steps out of a transporter right behind Lorne, the two of them discussing patrol rosters; the way Rodney’s shoulders are a little looser after Lorne brings him a cup of coffee and data from his team’s most recent off-world mission; how Carson is contemplative and thoughtful after Lorne checks in with him about the latest shipment of medical supplies; how Kate looks like _herself_ and not a mirror made up of the shards of other people’s pain after Lorne delivers her a stack of CDs of soothing music for the meditation lessons she gives out.

Elizabeth also learns to give signs, a look, an edge to her voice, a tap of her fingers on her desk, and Lorne comes to her room during a lull in the day’s busyness. Unlike the others, who feel free to take Lorne in their offices or labs or down a deserted corridor, Lorne always comes to her room.

Elizabeth is pretty sure she’s the only one who kisses him.


End file.
